


Offering

by ancient_moonshine



Series: Yacië [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Annatar realizes he's a sub and is bewildered at how into it he is, Celebrimbor may possibly know Annatar's true identity, Dom/sub Undertones, FaceFucking, M/M, PWP, Really just an excuse to write smut, This fic has no redeeming factor whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancient_moonshine/pseuds/ancient_moonshine
Summary: Annatar breaks the silence. “What should I do?” He asks. His voice cracks. “Tell me what I should do.” Celebrimbor looks at him.“Kneel.” Celebrimbor says. And Annatar obeys.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Yacië [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628155
Comments: 21
Kudos: 133





	Offering

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by that piece of art that had a minific for why Annatar kept his hands rough, even though he didn't have to. If someone would kindly link it, I forgot the artist's username. T.T
> 
> Edit: Found thanks to HarpofGold. :D It's "Hands of a Smith" by toastedbuckwheat on tumblr [who has beautiful art go check it out] https://toastedbuckwheat.tumblr.com/post/188550693096/inktober-2019-day-21-hands-of-a-smith-sauron

It had been a quiet midsummer night when everything broke. The heat had been stifling, even in the gardens of Ost-in-Edhil where they’d sought refuge from the heat of the forges, sipping chilled wines and discussing some arcane alchemical theory or another. It’s not the first evening they’ve spent together like this. Annatar had cultivated his relationship with Celebrimbor with the same patient skill he’d conducted his most difficult experiments in Angband. Mistrust and cool suspicion smoothing over into guarded friendship as long years passed, but there was always something that prevented it from blooming into open trust. A terseness that’s present in Celebrimbor even now, the elf instinctively holding part of himself aloof, out of Annatar’s reach. Desire a low, quiet light in his grey eyes, ever-present but unacted-upon, and though Annatar had always enjoyed a challenge, something about this rankles in a way he neither recognizes or likes even as step by slow inexorable step, his plans come into fruition one by one.

Celebrimbor brings his carved crystal glass to his lips, takes a sip of wine before answering an observation Annatar had made about the properties of synthesized gems versus natural ones. The crystal is frosted over, moisture beading its smooth surface like the sweat against Celebrimbor’s skin, heat rising from his body and mingling with the warm air. Though Annatar had barely felt it before – the advantages of a body more spirit than flesh - he can’t help but notice how it affects Celebrimbor. The flush on his cheeks, the way the light linen robes he’s wearing stick to his skin, how he fans himself by tugging on his collar. Taking in the little pants of breath, the sweat beading the sun-browned skin, the sinewy arms bared, his dark hair stuck to the back of his neck, his tongue running over cracked lips. The hundred small imperfections of living, breathing flesh, like inclusions in a delicately-formed jewel.

His gaze catches on a drop of sweat gliding down Celebrimbor’s throat, disappearing beneath Celebrimbor’s collar, looks away. Quelling the unsteady fire in him and barely hearing himself reply to Celebrimbor, but Celebrimbor doesn’t answer with a witty riposte of his own. Annatar drags his gaze up from the glistening trail to find Celebrimbor watching him.

The world goes very, very still. Annatar holds Celebrimbor’s gaze, the fire suddenly leaping inside of him, thrumming beneath his _fana,_ filling it completely. Celebrimbor moves first. With great deliberation he sets aside his crystal flute. Only a few dregs remain at the bottom, the color of blood.

“Give me your hands.” He says. His voice is quiet. Commanding. Like he was speaking to a headstrong apprentice and not a being older than Arda itself, and sudden anger consumes Annatar. But instinctively, he obeys. Holding his hands out to Celebrimbor, the impulse almost not his own, and Celebrimbor cradles them in his, fingers closing over his wrists as he pulls him forward and brings them to his lips.

Annatar’s hands are rough. They don’t need to be, but he’d learned from experience that too much perfection unsettles people instead of drawing them in. And so he’d painstakingly allowed callouses to form over his palms and fingers, patches of uneven roughness where Celebrimbor’s lips linger. Annatar opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, not until Celebrimbor, very gently, presses a kiss against his wrist, where his pulse should be.

A sharp gasp tumbles from Annatar’s lips. Celebrimbor looks up, and his eyes are blown dark. His cheeks are ruddy, but there’s a strange expression in his eyes that Annatar cannot read. Celebrimbor’s grip on his wrists tighten. Annatar hadn’t even noticed he had tried to tug them away. 

“Be still.” Celebrimbor says. Annatar does. Going quiet and pliant beneath Celebrimbor’s lips. Light and fire dancing everywhere Celebrimbor touches him. Celebrimbor kissing the inside of his wrists, his inner arm. Pushing up his sleeves and the garden is quiet all around them except for the song of the cicadas. Annatar can hear Celebrimbor’s breath in time with his own. 

Celebrimbor looks up at Annatar once more. Annatar can see resolve hardening in his eyes. 

“Come with me.” He says abruptly. He stands, and Annatar follows. Annatar unsteady, off-kilter, something almost like trepidation keeping him quiet as Celebrimbor laces his fingers with and leads him to his quarters.

They meet no one on the way there. Celebrimbor locks the door of his bedchambers behind him once they’re both inside. Annatar is surging up to kiss his mouth. Pressing him against the door with the ferocity of his need, new-awoken. Celebrimbor kisses him back just as fiercely, hands tight on his body. Annatar barely feeling him tug his robes open until they’re falling at his feet, slipping out of his shoes, the smooth marble floor cold beneath his bare feet. Revealing his _fana_ ’s chosen shape, every curve and plane, hard muscle and soft skin, reveling in the press of Celebrimbor's body against his. Celebrimbor’s hand closing over his already-hard length and Annatar lets out a cry against his lips. A cry that Celebrimbor silences with a kiss, peeling away the layers of Annatar’s self with his hands until Annatar is completely naked, shivering from the weight of Celebrimbor’s gaze as Celebrimbor breaks the kiss, pulls away.

Celebrimbor lets go of Annatar, turns away and Annatar nearly cries out from the loss. Somehow, he keeps quiet. Waiting. A forest fire sheathed in a skein of vulnerable flesh, close to igniting as Celebrimbor turns away from him, runs a shaking hand over his face. His robes are open, and there are raised red weals on his brown skin from Annatar’s nails. His eyes alight but somehow still veiled as they rove down Annatar’s body. Naked. Erect. Exposed. 

Annatar breaks the silence. “What should I do?” He asks. His voice cracks. “Tell me what I should do.” Celebrimbor looks at him.

“Kneel.” Celebrimbor says. And Annatar obeys.

The marble floor is hard on his knees. That of Angband was rougher, he reminds himself. This is not the first time he’s debased himself before another, but he knows better than to lie to himself that this is the same as before. Bowing before Melkor, breaking his own pride to serve him was a means to an end, and the end was power, the command of his armies as his old master stretched himself out too thin and spent his strength hiding in the dark. Before Celebrimbor, it’s. Different. On his knees before the lord of Eregion, Fëanor’s heir, Annatar feels a swell of emotion twist in his chest, threatening to suffocate him alongside the startling, strangling need to _give –_

“What do you want from me?” Maybe he says them out loud. Maybe he sent it out in his thoughts. Celebrimbor tugs his robes down, lets them fall from his body and kicks off his shoes. He too is erect, the tip glistening. Annatar is unable to stop the longing that razes through him like lightning, unfamiliar and exhilarating.

“Your mouth.” Celebrimbor says. "I want your mouth." Hands cradle his face, rough from years working in the forges, from creating the most delicate objects with exquisite care. Annatar suppresses a shiver when Celebrimbor caresses his cheeks, brushes his hair out of his face, thumb pressing against his bottom lip. Celebrimbor lets out a ragged, slow exhale as Annatar takes him into his mouth. 

The weight and taste of him is heavy and unfamiliar, Annatar never having done this before but he has and always been a quick study. He loses himself in the taste of Celebrimbor, the scent and feel of him, the rough pads of his fingers a counterpoint to how gently he’s touching Annatar as if he’s the most precious of his creations. Coaxing Annatar to take him whole, moaning as he thrusts into Annatar’s mouth, Annatar's hands and fingers flitting everywhere he can reach of Celebrimbor's body. Fondling his balls, spanning his strong thighs, the curve of his buttocks, until Celebrimbor breathlessly tells Annatar to touch himself. Annatar does everything Celebrimbor tells him to do. An obedient servant in every way, desperately craving this body’s limitations. 

Celebrimbor’s gentle fingers tighten in his hair and he comes. Hot liquid filling Annatar’s mouth and Annatar closes his eyes as the taste of Celebrimbor fills him.

Celebrimbor pulls out of Annatar’s mouth, Annatar gasping raggedly at the loss of him than any shortness of breath. He swallows, coughs wetly as Celebrimbor sinks to the floor in front of him, dragging him close and swiping at the dribble of come at the corner of his lips with his thumb as Annatar sucks in one shaky breath after another. Holding him until his breath eases and his shoulders stop heaving, and then kissing him, licking into his mouth. All it takes is one touch of Celebrimbor’s palm against his cock and Annatar’s falling apart. The raging fire inside him consuming him whole as Celebrimbor kisses the taste of himself out of him and squeezes their fingers tight together.

It’s a while before Annatar returns to himself. Soft kisses pouring on his skin like spring rain. He blinks open his eyes to find himself half-cradled in Celebrimbor’s arms. Shivering when Celebrimbor’s hand closes over him, giving him a firm stroke, then another, and Annatar comes again, weakly. His body jerking against Celebrimbor, curving like a bow before falling limp as Celebrimbor showers kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. 

Annatar gasps weakly. Allows himself to be held. Dimly he feels himself being carried, feels silk sheets against his skin. Sudden loss of warmth, and Annatar pushes himself up weakly, only to feel soft lips against his forehead.

“Lie down. I’ll be back.” Annatar obeys. He doesn’t think he can do anything else, anyway. Losing himself in a haze of warmth and need, and he jerks a little when he feels Celebrimbor’s hand on his length again, Celebrimbor laying a soothing, soft kiss against his nape as Annatar shivers at the soft rasp of a towel against his overheated skin.

When Celebrimbor is done cleaning him, he takes Annatar into his arms. Annatar blinks his eyes open, bleary. Trembling. Celebrimbor brushes the hair out of his face.

“ _Maira,_ ” he murmurs. Annatar barely stops himself from jerking his head up, eyes wide.  
  
“What did you call me?” He forces himself to keep his tone even. Calm. Celebrimbor curves a hand around his cheek, gentle.  
  
“ _Maira._ ” He says. “Admirable. Isn’t that what you are?” Annatar swallows. The taste of Celebrimbor heavy in his mouth, and his gaze hazy still as he stares up at him. Celebrimbor’s tone is faintly teasing, but his grey gaze remains as shuttered as it’s always been, even with Annatar in his arms. Annatar swallows. He leans forwards, catches Celebrimbor’s lips in a kiss. Thinking of inclusions, a potentially fatal flaw amidst perfection.

But Celebrimbor just kisses back. Once, twice, before taking him into his arms, spreading his legs apart and crawling between them. Taking Annatar every way he knew how, as Annatar gives himself over, submits.

**Author's Note:**

> [My kinks are nothing if not predictable.] 
> 
> Does Celebrimbor know who Annatar is? Who knows. All I know is I really wanted 2019 to go out with a bang. :D 
> 
> Happy New Year, people. :D Comments and the people who make them are as always are beloved.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [this eternal flame of mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598678) by [joanofarcstan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanofarcstan/pseuds/joanofarcstan)




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